Chapter Five
I pressed my eyes shut as I sat in a seat at the rear of the bus. I just wanted to be away from everything; I wanted to be free of the pain, the horror and the memories. But I knew no matter how far the bus took me, I would not be able to escape my grief.
A wet droplet landed on the back of my hand. I peeled my eyes open and looked down to it. The sun shone through the window, reflecting on my tear and making it dance. My chest burned as I thought of the times Sasha and I would sit on the riverbank and watch as the sun danced along the water. I would tell her the sparkling sunlight was the fairies fluttering their wings as they danced to the music of the world.
The bus jolted to a start, drawing me from my trance. I looked at the tear on the back of my hand. As I wiped it away, a crushing reality came down on me; never again would the dancing sunlight be a fairy. Now, all a tear would ever be was water.
I stared through the smeared window to the blurring city. Every building, every car, every person just melted together with no meaning or purpose. As I looked at my reflection in the window, red hair cascading over my shoulders, I realised that I, too, had blurred into something unrecognisable with no purpose.
A woman’s voice broke my train of thought. “Looks like we’re the only two on the bus today.”
I turned to see her leaning across the aisle; I swore she wasn’t there a moment ago. Her dark hair was in a tight bun. A light scarf draped around either side of her face and flowed down her shoulders. But it wasn’t her clothes that startled me; it was her eyes—they were almost golden. They appeared to be alive as she stared into me.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said slowly, still somewhat transfixed by her unusual eyes.
“But then again, not many take the journey to where we are headed.”
“I don’t even know where we’re going,” I said.
“You boarded this bus without knowing its destination?”
I nodded. “I don’t care where it’s going, so long as it’s going.” I tore my gaze away from her and stared through the smeared window again.
“Our destination is Central Australia. Hot, sand-filled air to breathe, dry lakes and nothingness as far as the eye can see.”
I looked back at her, sensing there was something ‘off’ about this woman, but not sure what. Looking at her was like looking at a memory only vaguely recalled.
“If it’s so horrible, why are you travelling there?” I asked.
She pulled a corner of her lip into a smile, her golden eyes gleaming even brighter. “I never said it was horrible.” Her words floated through the air like a silken scarf in a breeze. “Some live for aridity. Tell me—do you believe in destiny and fate?”
“What?” The unexpected question startled me.
“Do you believe in destiny and fate?” she repeated her words, just as silkily as before.
I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.” I was beginning to regret my decision to board the bus.
She continued to look at me as though my simple answer would not suffice. I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I kind of like the idea that everything is pre-ordained, so no matter what you do, you’ll always end up right where you’re meant to. It’s comforting.” I desperately wanted to believe my own words; I wanted to believe that the death of my family had meaning and that I would find a purpose again.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” she said slowly, watching me intently.
“What about you? Do you believe in destiny or fate?” I asked.
“Of course. Destiny is a river, forever changing, wild and ferocious. You cannot run from it, and you cannot hide from it.”
“So, you could say, build a raft and hold on for dear life?” I half smiled at my analogy.
“Precisely.”
“What’s your destiny?”
She pondered for a moment. “Perhaps my destiny is to alter yours …”
“Right … um, you know, I’m really tired. I’m going to try to get some sleep,” I said and turned to face the window.
I wasn’t the slightest bit tired, but that woman and that conversation were unnerving, so I feigned the tiredness. It seemed to work as she stopped talking. As I sat with my eyes gently closed, I could feel her eyes watching me for some time before I heard her eventually move to a seat further back.
Hours passed slowly as I stared out the window. The woman had fallen asleep shortly after our conversation ended, for which I was grateful. I was still feeling unsettled by her manner and her words.
Darkness fell, obscuring the countryside. I looked up to the sky. A million dazzling stars gazed back. There was something about the stars; no matter where I was, or who I was with, just one look at them and I would feel at home. I suppose it’s because they’re constant. The countryside changes, the oceans are distant, but no matter where you are on this Earth, you can almost always see the stars.
The bus rocked gently, as it glided over the undulating road. My eyelids grew heavier, blurring the night stars and drawing me into the dream world.
I was standing on a raft made of irregularly sized logs, fastened together with thick white rope. The raft was gliding smoothly on a slow moving, black river. Silence. There was no other noise apart from the gentle splashes of water lapping the raft. White fog filled the gaps between the trees and danced along the still, black water.
As the raft floated along the river, the white fog began to lift, revealing long, bare branches entwining themselves around each other as they touched the dark water.
The raft took me through and around the outstretched branches, even deeper into the misty forest. Beyond the fog something was becoming clear—I could begin to see the outline of faces.
“Hello?” I called.
The faces remained motionless.
“Hello? Where am I?” I called again, my voice flat and empty.
The raft moved through the people as though they were nothing more than stagnant parts of the forest. Instantly the mist lifted, revealing the people were, in fact, dead; men, women and children—hanging. Their faces had succumbed to decay and their hair hung as straw by their faces. I tried to pull away from the forest of hanging dead. I desperately wanted the raft to turn back, but it didn’t seem to matter what I did—the raft stayed on course, unfaltering in its pace.
The black river flowed directly into an enormous tree growing through the centre of the flowing water; its ancient branches twisted around one another, proudly stretched out over the canopy. The raft spun on the spot. Instead of people hanging from the trees, they levitated above the river with hands outstretched.
“No! No! Go away!” I cried as the hands of one of the hangmen wrapped around my throat.
I could feel its decaying fingers slide across my throat and tighten their grip. The smell of decaying bodies filled my lungs.
“No!” I cried. “Get off me!” I screamed as I tried to pry its fingers from my throat.
“Hey, hey, hey. Wake up!”
I threw my eyes open and sat up abruptly, sweat beading on my forehead.
“You were dreaming,” the man said.
I focused my eyes and felt an immediate sense of relief as I realised I was still on the bus and not in the death forest.
I sat back in the seat catching my breath. I rubbed my throat as I tried to breathe deeply. I could still smell the rotting flesh of the hanging dead.
“Sorry to tell ya Miss, but we will be staying here for a bit.” The man who had woken me was the bus driver.
He leant over the seat in front. The smell of stale beer flowed into my nostrils. At any other time, I would have been repulsed, but for now, it cloaked the lingering smell of the rotting flesh.
“Just hit a bunch of bloody roos. Surprised the hit didn’t wake ya! Anyway if we weren’t out in the middle of no-bloody-where, it’d be fixed in no time. There’s a few places to stay; ain’t nothin’ like what you’d be used ta back in the city, but, it’ll just have to do ya. I’ll be sure to give ya a yell when the bus is right to get go
in’.” He smiled. As he did his fat, stubbly chin crinkled.
I couldn’t be bothered explaining that I didn’t live in the city, or that I was only there because I was laid up in a hospital. I looked out the window to see daylight just creeping over the horizon.
“Where are we?” I asked as I craned my neck, trying to see anything familiar.
“Warrangatta. Home of the nothing,” he laughed. “Does have a bloody good pub, though. Best meals you’ll get.” He winked and nodded his head.
“Is everyone alright?” a man called from the door of the bus. He was a short, plump man with a receding hairline. What remained of his hair was completely white apart from a few black strands that he had positioned carefully across his head.
The driver pushed himself from the seat he was leaning on. “G’day Sam. Yeah, we’re alright. Can’t say the same for the bus, though. Bloody roos! If it weren’t for the bloody tourists, we’d have a cull on the damned things! It’s what we need.”
“Where’s the woman?” I asked, interrupting his rant. I had only just noticed she wasn’t sitting in the seat behind me.
“Who? Oh, you mean the old bat, the one with the scarf? Yeah, she got off about a town back.” He scratched his chin as he spoke. “Said to give this to ya.” He leant across to the seat she had been sitting in and picked up a small parcel wrapped in brown paper tied together with string. ‘DRIA’ was scribbled across the top of it.
“What is it?” I asked as I inspected it.
He shrugged. “Dunno. Hang on—she said to say somefin’ ... um. What was it? Oh yeah, ‘She hopes this will help you find your way’.” He shrugged again. “Anyway, as I said, if we weren’t in the middle of no-bloody-where we’d be off in no time. Say, Sam. Would you be able to show this lass around? Gotta organise a mechanic to sort this baby out. Bruce still running the garage?” he asked as he walked back to the driver’s seat and sat down heavily.
“Yes, Bruce still owns the garage. He owned it twenty years ago when I moved here, and I reckon he’ll own it for another twenty,” Sam joked as he walked towards me, leaning heavily on a brown cane as he went.
“Good morning,” he smiled, almost losing his lips under his thick white beard.
“Hi,” I answered quickly, still inspecting the parcel.
“Bill says the bus is going to be out of action for some time. I own Warrangatta Books, just across the way.” He held up his cane and pointed it towards the main street. “Spend most of my time there. But when I’m not there I’m at home. Until the bus is fixed, you’re welcome to join me. I’m not a very exciting seventy-something-year-old, and I can’t promise you’ll have the most comfortable bed, but it doesn’t have mites or smell of urine like the pub.” He smiled kindly. “I’m just about to open the store now if you wanted to follow me? I’ve got coffee. Oh, and you can meet Andy. He’s about your age—about twenty-five. Nice young fella. He moved here only about two weeks ago. He won’t be staying long, but might fill in your time while you wait for the bus to be fixed,” he beamed.
He was kind to me, and he seemed genuine. I slipped my hand into my pocket. The envelope Tess had given me still sat in there. I wrapped my fingers around it tightly as I thought of the words across the front: ‘New beginnings – don’t screw it up.’
I inhaled deeply. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“Wonderful!” Sam smiled broadly. “Now, I’ll get that for you, while you grab your bag,” he said tucking the parcel under his arm. I followed Sam as he shuffled along the aisle and down the steps to the dusty road. “Let’s get you settled now. Andy will be delighted to have someone other than me to talk to.”
I spent the next several minutes listening to Sam excitedly explain the history of his little town as we made our way to the Warrangatta Book Store, my new home for the next few days. Sam showed me up to my room, which was small but neat and appeared to be clean.
“I’ll leave you to settle in. When you’re ready, come down. Andy should be in by then, and I can introduce you,” he said as he left the room.
I fell back on the bed bemused at my situation. The soft doona hugged me and the mattress was heavenly—nothing like the thin, rubbery thing I slept on in the hospital. I stared at the ceiling thinking about all that had happened in the last 24 hours and wondering how I might fill my time in this small town for the next few days. Before long, sleep had taken me.
The Aztec Saga - Hunted Page 10
